Hunters' Chorus
by GinkoToothed
Summary: What ever occurred between the Monster and the Huntress after the attack on the Adler? A relationship exploration of sorts. Manga-verse; takes place during Alucard's voyage to London. Alucard/Rip.
1. Orcinus

**Disclaimer:** Hellsing is © Kohta Hirano. I have no interest in making profit off of his work.

**A/N's:** HEY MAN, why are you making this fic, Rip/Alucard is _so_ over the top and doesn't make sense!

ok ok ok, my reasoning:  
a) I find Alucard/Rip to be a rather interesting, peculiar, and cute pairing (if they get along, _ever_).  
b) There's not enough (decently) written fanfiction about the two out there. Aside from the 23862845 re-writes of Rip's death.  
c) The whole idea of Alucard brainwashing Rip when she became his familiar bothered me. I found it to be hypocritical; after all, wasn't he always big on the idea of free will? Why not give her the choice to chose sides?

Takes place at the end of volume five of the manga.

* * *

**ACT I: Orcinus**

CHORUS: Why do you cry out thus, unless at some vision of horror?

CASSANDRA: The house reeks of death and dripping blood.

CHORUS: How so? 'Tis but the odor of the alter sacrifice.

CASSANDRA: The stench is like a breath from the tomb.

- Aeschylus, _Agamemnon_

* * *

An unfamiliar darkness. Uncomfortable silence.

Was this… it? Is this how it is when you _finally_ die? Is this the afterlife? No, it couldn't. She felt clearly conscious; she was aware and still had the ability to think and reason.

But… Where was her body? She flexed, moved her arms and hands in front of her, but they were not there. Just darkness. Looking down, she attempted to move her legs, kicking vigorously – again, darkness. Odd, she can still feel the sensation of limbs, but couldn't see them…

If this wasn't the afterlife, then where was she? This void was anything but peaceful; in fact, it was beginning to make her feel claustrophobic. She reached and clawed around her, desperately hoping to grasp something tangible, anything that served as an anchor, a connector, back to the physical world –

_There._ She felt… cloth? snagged in her hand. Or at least it felt like cloth... How could she describe this? It felt like smooth, weightless velvet.

The 'cloth' suddenly wriggled; tendrils formed and began to snake up her hand, along her arm. She shouted in alarm, jerking her hand back in an instant. Well, at least that gave her an answer: she was currently in a 'living' void, of sorts. How could this nothingness be… alive?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a noise. It was distant, muffled, but she heard it: whispers, murmurs, quiet voices echoed from all around. Some spoke in English, others in foreign tongues. Further off, there was screaming, masculine in tone. It was too far away to pick up; she could only hear fragments.

"… n… get them awa… not the hounds!… Jesus… nythin… Godda…"

She took a sharp intake of breath. Hounds? What on earth… _where_ on earth _was_ she? Anxiety began to gnaw within her. How _did_ she end up here? She couldn't recall anything that could have lead her to this situation.

She can remember being in the helicopter, being transported to the aircraft carrier… and she clearly remembered hijacking the Adler and dispatching the naïve fledglings. With her thirty or so vampiric men, they prepared for the Last Battalion through early morning hours; she waited eagerly to launch her planned attack at midnight, even through the searing heat of day, bubbly and giddy with the thoughts of glorious warfare and victory…

A massive explosion; dozens died at the moment of impact, their bodies sprawled over the deck. All radios and other devices destroyed, cutting off any communication back to the Major and headquarters. The giant jet stood on its smashed nose, wrapped in a towering inferno, giving the malevolent appearance of a giant burning cross…

Then out came the looming figure, out from the blazing fortress of melting, warped iron. The gleaming crimson eyes, a pleased yet psychotic grin, the rows and rows of teeth, ever sharp and ever deadly, the hundreds of sprouting, grappling clawed hands, ever searching, the ten thousand little eyes leering from the writhing tendrils, never blinking –

Scenes of her own death flickered in her mind's eye. She felt violently sick. A jolt of sharp, searing pain. Her hands instinctively shot towards the source, trying to massage the pained area – it came from the left side of her torso, near her sternum. That's where _he_ impaled her with her own musket. Fighting a wave of nausea, she held her hands there for a moment; she felt dampness. A unique coppery scent assaulted her nose: blood. She was bleeding.

But she was... dead. Truly dead. Nothing added up: she shouldn't feel pain; she shouldn't be able to move around; she shouldn't have coherent thoughts; she shouldn't even be conscious. The murmurs and whispers became noticeably louder. She was hit with another wave of nausea, stronger than the last.

* * *

The motionless VTOL aircraft carrier let out soft metallic groans as the waves lapped against the ship's sides, swaying slightly occasionally. The full moon rose higher in the clear, indigo night sky, revealing the horrid aftermath of carnage, which occurred less than an hour earlier.

The carrier no longer appeared to be a ship: instead, it was a casket of smashed iron, a floating wasteland. Every bit of metal, from the smallest sheet, to the colossal SR-17 Blackbird, still standing where it crashed, nose-first onto the ship, was scorched, twisted, and broken.

Most of the fires from the jet crash were snuffed by a strong oceanic gust that had blown by earlier. A few still smoldered and bellowed columns of smoke. Soldiers' torn bodies and limbs still littered parts of the ship deck and control tower. On every soldier's face, mangled or not, was a mask of shock and horror, their eyes wide and jaws agape in a frozen scream. The Adler carried no more than bodies and remnants of a massacre. Save for the tall, red-clad figure standing on the flight deck.

Alucard quietly observed the sea from where he stood, dressed in his usual crimson Victorian duster, paled by the moonlight that bathed him from behind. It was his first time, in almost a century, since he last saw the sea. Granted, he should be filled with absolute revulsion, considering he was in the middle of the English Channel. Yet, he felt calm and collected; the rhythm of the tide soothed him to an extent.

However, the sightseeing tour was not on the schedule. He completed his mission in eliminating all the targets and putting the Adler out of commission, but it wasn't until the last minute he realized that he landed into a trap. Ironically, there were no planes or helicopters on board in pristine and working condition. With no aircraft available, and with everyone most likely pulling all their efforts on the front line in fighting against the Major's forces, he was stranded.

He was miles and miles away from London, where he should be – at Sir Integra's side. Although he knew his Master could – no, _can_ – easily take care of herself when it came to tough situations, he was slightly worried. He and Walter had faced these bastards before, but they've returned more cunning than ever. Clearly the Major and his crew learned from their mistakes when they were defeated in Warsaw, and completed their projects using the newfound knowledge.

And they had brought along an army of artificially created vampires, a thousand strong, while they were at it. Now this should be an interesting little war – one he was all too eager to participate in.

Something glinted. There, a few yards away, by the one compartment wall, where it was stained by a rather large splatter of dried blood. Alucard lifted a hand slightly, fingers twitching – a beckoning gesture. The object levitated and flew quickly into his palm. With intrigued eyes, he unfolded and scrutinized: it was a pair of glasses.

Ah, they were Rip van Winkle's glasses, the sharpshooter. She was an interesting vampire: predatory and fiercely loyal, with a sharp eye and skillful with firearms to boot. Yet, she had a more sensitive side, with a child-like naivety. However, as he clearly took note during his attack, Winkle was absolutely terrified of him, letting her fear run rampant and get the best of her. If she was going to be an efficient and cooperative familiar, without having to force him to erase all of her memories, he was going to have to gain her trust, one way or another. He truly did not want to brainwash her; after all, he believed in free will like a creed.

Earning her trust would take some time. Unfortunately, time was something Alucard did not have. The Major's forces have probably invaded London by now, and he needed to return to Integra as soon as possible before the city was completely overtaken.

"It's about time I become acquainted with my newly acquired huntress…"

* * *

"Come."

_Who was that?_

The hushed cacophony of mutters fell silent. She was still nauseous, but was more of a lingering feeling, rather than the fierce wave she felt earlier. She scanned; ahead was an open doorway, filled with bright light.

"_Come_, sharpshooter," the voice beckoned.

That voice… it was coming from there, wasn't it? It was deep, but soothing, somewhat… comforting. Although she was a creature of the night, the light was an unexpected source of comfort and relief from this pit-less, hopeless void. But what lies on the other side? Would this beacon of light be the gateway to heaven… or the gateway to something worse?

"Why do you hesitate? Shed your last vestiges of doubt, and walk forward. Or, _do _you wish to stay here?"

The omniscient voice had a point. Staying here only made her feel suffocated, trapped, and she didn't have any intention of staying in a cell that literally tried to ensnare her for a moment longer.

She started to walk. As she approached the light, she glanced down and saw her legs and feet, her arms and hands –

"Yes, come…"

The voice swam in her mind, so enticing. She was at the door. She went forward and reached out for the light –

* * *

Alucard's head was slightly tilted back, eyes closed in concentration. A shadow grew from where he stood, extending before him on the flight deck. Inky tendrils writhed and whipped, and within the shadow, thousands of small, scarlet eyes opened, staring up at him.

With a mental command, he summoned a familiar. In response, activity erupted from the center: the shadowy mass gathered, grew and boiled, tendrils sprouting and waving. The sea of eyes shifted their attention to the center.

The form began to take shape – tall, slim, and lanky. As the mass began to slowly seep away, it exposed its summoned captive. Her figure was slender, clad in her usual black uniform. If it weren't for the slight swell in the hips and curve of the breast, she would have looked decidedly male. She had a freckled, youthful face, long arms and legs, and equally long hair, a cascade of raven locks – accented with a few stray hairs and a stretched curlicue in the front.

The last shadows fell from her form, and retreated back to their owner at frightening speed. Alucard gave a quiet, lazy sigh, and looked at the sharpshooter, seeing her for the first time in an hour.

Rip opened her cobalt blue eyes. She shifted, looking around at her surroundings. Her mind kept stalling in confusion. Why was she on the Adler? Was she… No. She was undead to begin with.

Is this wreckage even the Adler anyway? Everything was smashed, burnt and twisted. Was this another trial, of sorts? Like the void she was stuck in earlier? She couldn't see very well, her glasses were missing. Ugh, this is ridiculous, why was she missing her glasses at this ti–

There were bodies. Everywhere. One was lying not too far from her right.

She froze. She felt the familiar sensation of being immersed in fear. On the end of the flight deck, barely ten feet away from her stood devil himself. Even though her eyesight was reduced to a blur, she could see his tall figure, immersed in the moonlight: those gleaming, crimson orbs for eyes, his inky black hair. There was a white flicker – he was grinning. Baring all those rows and rows of jagged teeth.

"Oh Gott," Rip whispered in horror, inwardly, as her panic went full tilt. Her body flushed with adrenaline and was preparing to flee from this monster. But during the swing of movement, a familiar and intense pain pierced through her torso; it was enough to cry out, make her knees buckle and she promptly fell in a heap.

Pushing herself up, she began to cough and choke. Once seated, she clutched her sternum, franticly trying to ease the pain. She felt wetness; she pulled her gloved hands back. They were splashed in red. She quickly berated herself for forgetting that she was still wounded.

She heard heavy footsteps, approaching her.

"Hn, another familiar that stubbornly refuses to heal while in my keep… I believe I am beginning to see an intriguing pattern with your Millennium ilk."

As she looked up at him, her face a mask of dread, she tried to hurriedly crawl away from him, awkward and slightly crab-like. "Vat do you vant vit me?" She half-shrieked, half gurgled. "You haff alveady had your fill – unless you kept me for seconds?"

No answer. He continued his approach.

"You haff zlaughtered my crew vitout mercy, sate yourself on zheir blood und now haff zhis ship under your command! Vat else do you vant –"

She doubled over, her body shaking, coughing up blood. She looked down; blood was seeping from her wound in large, oozing rivers. She began to feel stabbing pain not only coming from her chest, but through her back as well. Bending over in pain, she tried to scoot back again, but couldn't: her system was faltering, weakening due to blood loss.

Rip heard a rustle of cloth, snapped her head up: Alucard was suddenly upon her, kneeling in front of her. If her heart was still functioning, it would have been beating a mile a minute.

"I would highly suggest that you stop struggling, or else you will go into shock." Alucard glanced at the bloody streaks she had left behind.

"Vhy do you even care?" Rip snapped, confused and irate. "You have von your game – you caught your prey und done vat you vished vith your prize. Vhy _should_ I stop strugglingk? I am already dead – "

"Technically," he interrupted, calmly, "you are not dead."

She paused. She looked into his blazing eyes: they were not filled with anger, malice, or bloodlust, like they did earlier. An unreadable glimmer…

"But, you – "

"Yes, I _did_ kill you. However, before your life slipped away, I consumed your being, collected your soul and made you my own."

She listened, focusing on his mouth – she was wary about those fangs.

"So, vat haff I become?" Rip asked, slowly.

"You are now a familiar, a soul that responds to my beck and call."

She was anything but fond of the concept of being someone's soul-bounded servant. She lashed out, trying to clout him.

Alucard effortlessly caught her by the wrist. Rip didn't attempt to struggle. He turned her gloved hand, palm up, noticing the bloodstain.

"You are alive, in a sense." he explained, "However, you no longer have your original body. Your form is composed from my own essence, and yet, you are separate from me. Your abilities are severely hampered." He eyed the gaping hole on her torso. "As you can see, your ability to recover from physical damage has been reduced dramatically. So unless you plan on dying slowly, in a pool of your own life's blood, I suggest saving your breath, and allow me to tend to your wounds."

Letting her hand go (in which she snapped it back in an instant), Alucard leaned in a little closer. "However, it is your choice whether to accept my offer, or not." He intoned, his voice deep and silken.

Rip gulped, looked away momentarily, filled with fear and uncertainty. How could she trust him – the devil, of all beings? This could be a carefully baited trap, purposefully luring her for another round of torture. Yet, he spoke with such sincerity... Then again, what did she have to lose? She failed her mission; even if she returned (by some miraculous stroke of luck), it would have brought nothing but shame and disappointment to the Major. Would they even accept her back into the organization after such a fiasco? She doubted it.

Gathering any courage she had left, she returned to his gaze. "I… akcept your offer… _for naow._" She replied, eyes narrowing at the last two words.

Alucard stood, with a pleased yet slightly maniac smile. Rip shakily pushed herself off the deck floor, slowly getting up. The elder vampire offered her a hand. Rip swatted it away – she didn't need assistance from that damned monster. She almost stood full height before she wobbled and began to cough again. More blood issued from her lungs. She soon took back her initial refusal of taking his hand, as she became trapped in her coughing fit, so violent that her body began to quake, and stumbled backwards. She was about to brace herself from the fall when she felt herself get caught –

"You shouldn't push yourself," Alucard remarked. Rip suddenly realized where his arm was (curled around her back, her waist) and how close he was.

She glared at him. "Let – "

In one fluid movement, Alucard swept her up and was walking towards the stairs, leading to the lower ship floors. She squirmed in his arms for a few moments before her strength waned away. Mentally, she sighed_, _accepting defeat.

A low chuckle rung in her mind. _~ A wise choice, sharpshooter. ~_

They descended down the steps.

_~ Where is the location of the hospital ward?_ ~ Alucard asked. She illustrated all the ship floors and following the shortest route, as well as the layout of the room, telepathically.

_~ First, you need to turn – ~_

Alucard didn't need directions; he had already vaporized and reappeared in the hospital ward before Rip even finished her sentence.

_~ - left… oh. ~_

That was quick.

He walked over to the metal examining table, located in the middle of the room, gently setting her down. She sat, letting her legs dangle over the edge. Alucard willed the medicinal cabinets to unlock and searched for gauze and bandages, while Rip kicked off her shoes and peeled off her gloves, slowly. She was annoyed with the clammy feeling of blood-soaked cloth. She heard a sink faucet behind her turn on, run water for a moment, and shut off.

_~ Wait for me to assist you. ~_

_~ Assist in vat? ~_

_~ In removing your clothes. ~_

Rip felt her stomach drop. Alucard returned to the table, setting down a bowl, a few rolls of bandages and dressings on the table's cold metal surface.

_~ Now, sit up. ~_

Rip hesitantly obeyed, sitting up straighter to the best of her injured body's ability. She watched as he untied her tie, and unbuttoned her bloodstained military jacket and her pastel pink, long-sleeved shirt. She moved or lifted her arms when necessary.

The moment he finished sliding her shirt off, Rip's nervousness returned. She tucked and crossed her legs, and quickly covered herself, refusing to let him see her bra-covered chest. It was a mixed reaction of not wanting to expose herself to the enemy, and other being self-conscious. She knew downright well that her build was not as shapely as other women – human or not – and didn't need the devil himself to sneer at her about it.

A moment passed. Rip stole a glance; Alucard just quietly watched her. He looked for the bandage roll with the widest width and started fumbling with it, searching for the end of it. Even with a casual, human gesture like this, Rip felt so small, so insignificant, all huddled up in a ball, compared to his towering figure.

Her wound throbbed unbearably. More blood seeped. After a few more moments of silence, she figured if he didn't say anything earlier, he probably wouldn't now. Slowly, she uncrossed her arms. Alucard leaned closer; his lengthy arms reached around and unclasped her bra, now nearly drenched in crimson. He slid it off her shoulders and set it neatly aside, along with the other articles of bloodied clothing.

Rip rubbed her shivering arms, feeling chilled by the air and apprehensive as to what would come next.

Alucard knelt to near eye level with her. She noticed he wasn't holding any antiseptics.

"Vhy don't you haff any medicine?"

"Disinfectants and antiseptics work perfectly fine on humans, made to heal their living flesh. However, on creatures like us, the medicines backfire. Their synthetic chemistry does not mix with our undead cells and tissues. They only exacerbate the injured site, and in some cases, might cause the wounds to rot."

Rip grimaced at the thoughts of her current wound becoming black with rotting tissue. "Vat vill make it heal, zhen?"

"Enzymes."

"Und vhere vill ve get zhat?"

Alucard licked his lips. She saw his tongue dart for a split second.

_~ N-No. ~_

"It's the only way," he said, giving her a twisted grin. "My saliva acts like an antiseptic _and _helps encourage tissue growth and regeneration." He sounded so smug.

Well, if it's the only way…

She placed her hands on the table, slightly behind her to prop herself up a bit, granting Alucard permission. He looked at the upper half of her body, with a sinister (and slightly wanton?) glaze over his burning eyes.

"Stop," she barked, before Alucard could edge closer to her, slightly catching him off guard. "I do not vant you to touch me," she ordered, "I vant both hands on eitzher side of me."

For that moment, her unwavering sense of authority and command, as well as her determination, shone through. It greatly reminded him of Integra.

He complied, lazily resting his hands on either side of her, caging her. He bowed his head, examining her wound. Rip looked past his head, trying to distract herself by focusing on the half-parted cabinet door.

She felt his hot breath tickling her breasts, making her shudder. Rip cursed herself for reacting – she knew he was intentionally teasing her to get a response out of her. She took a quick glance, and saw Alucard's mouth open, jaws equipped with many pearly white daggers –

Rip grabbed and dug her fingers into his shoulders as his warm tongue delve into her gaping wound. Indeed, it hurt _immensely_ when he brushed past tender, injured tissue and muscle, but it was the bizarre sensation of having someone's tongue dive into your chest cavity was most unsettling to her.

Alucard continued to probe. She dug her nails further into his duster, and bit her own tongue, refusing to cry out, refusing to show any signs of weakness. His snaking muscle stopped its onslaught, and stilled; he needed to give it some time for the enzymes to do their work. For Rip, time seemed to drag its feet. Every once in a while, his extended tongue would twitch (and she swore, with disgust, that she felt the tip of his tongue poke out from the other end of the wound, _through her back_).

Tired of staring at the cabinet, Rip looked down at Alucard's rakish, ebony hair. It looked… soft, and very tempting to touch. She relaxed her grip on his shoulders. As if he picked up on her thoughts, a strand of hair, no, a tendril, whipped out, and stroked her face, almost lovingly. She jerked her face away, momentarily horror-struck. There was movement within her, and Alucard's tongue began to retreat –

He suddenly paused.

"Vhy did you stop?"

_~ I felt something… non-organic. ~_

The muscle slightly scraped. She gritted her teeth.

_~ Ahhh… ~_

He slowly withdrew his tongue. Going against her command, he willed his right hand to become shadow, and sending it into the wound.

Rip let out a small whimper. "Vat is it?"

_~ I found a rather interesting object by your heart. ~_

_~ By my vat? ~_

She yelped in pain, feeling a snag within the left side of her chest, right where her stilled heart would be located. With extreme care, Alucard dislodged the object.

Once his shadowy hand was out, Rip immediately curled into a ball, clutching her aching chest. After recovering for a moment or two, she leaned forward, wanting to see what was in his outstretched palm. It was a chip, etched with circuit grid-like patterns.

"Do you know what this is?" Alucard inquired.

She had to squint her eyes a bit, due to her farsightedness. "It… it looks like one of zhe Freak chips zat Dok put into me."

"Master has shown one of these to me. It combusts and engulfs the host in flames."

Rip didn't reply, somewhat lost in her thoughts. Alucard dropped the chip and stomped on it with the heel of his boot, metal and plastic crunching against steel. Snapping back to reality, Rip looked at the floor, then back up at him.

"You are free now."

Rip was about to argue, since she was bound to him as a familiar, but then stopped. What he said was true: symbolically, she was free from Millennium. Knowing she no longer belonged to the organization, that she was loyally a part of for fifty years, felt very odd.

She wanted to move, at least off this cold examining table. But before she could slide off, Alucard held out a hand and stopped her.

"You cannot move around. I need to bandage your wounds while you allow your own body to mend itself. However, that will take some time, due to your weakened abilities."

"Zhen vhy did you stick your tongue into me…?"

"To give your system a jump start."

"Somehow, I don't zhink I can completely believe zhat."

She heard him chuckle heartily within her thoughts. _~ It's half-true, then. ~ _He gathered her thick, glossy raven hair, slinging it over her right shoulder.

Reaching around her, Alucard picked up a small bowl of warm water he had filled earlier. From within, he produced a damp washcloth, and gingerly wiped the caked blood off her mouth and chin, and cleaned her impalement wounds. Next, he opened a few packets of gauze, dressed the wounds, and then unrolled the bandages. With careful and deft fingers, and applying firm yet gentle pressure, he bounded the injuries so it covered the wounds on her chest and back. When finished, he cut off the last strip with his large eyeteeth, and making a simple knot.

Rip examined her torso, to see the results. Although she couldn't see very well, it appeared satisfactory. She still felt incredibly sore, but the pain was significantly alleviated.

_~ Look up. ~_

She did, and was startled to find his huge hands by her face. Rip's fears were eased when she felt the cool metal of her glasses' thin frames slide onto the bridge of her nose and ears. Her vision was now crystal clear; she studied Alucard, noticing his aquiline nose, intense eyes and sharp facial features.

As much as she wanted to deny it, he was quite a dapper and darkly handsome creature…

Rip felt awash in dizziness, and felt her body begin to sway. Familiar arms steadied her, scooped her up, and carried her as he walked off into an adjacent room.

_~ Vhere are you taking me? ~_

_~ You are in dire need of rest. There is ward full of beds in the next room. ~_

She made a small noise in agreement.

Approaching the nearest bed, Alucard tugged off the sheets halfway before depositing Rip onto the mattress, carefully. She sat there for a moment, arms covering herself again. She was a bit dazed and weary, still trying to digest what on earth was going on.

Then again, he couldn't blame her, considering all the damage and trauma he inflicted on her almost an hour ago. He felt a tinge of guilt. Just a tinge.

He noticed that she was forcing herself to stay awake, rebelling against her body's begging need for rest.

"You need to sleep," Alucard said.

"I can't sleep vith you ga– "

He suddenly loomed over her, his hands either side of her, caging her again, his eyes scorching her's, a swirl of brilliant brimstone, orange, vermilion –

"_**Sleep.**_" he rumbled, his voice silken once more, inviting.

It didn't take much effort. Rip was out like a light; he had to catch and cradle her falling head, preventing her from hitting the wooden head-post of the bed. Once he positioned her head to rest on the pillow, he pulled the covers up to her collar. As he stood, Alucard heard the soft metallic groans of the ship, rocked by the waves.

But heard something else… A chorus of moans.

He focused: on the floor below, and within the expansive boiler room, an entire crew of ghouls shuffled about aimlessly, with no master to rein them in. They must have been the original workers on this ship before the Millennium moles attacked.

Exiting the ward, his guns materialized in his hands. Alucard wasn't exactly looking forward to dispatching the animated corpses. Then again, he didn't want to add more fuel to the fire by accidentally letting more ghouls setting foot in England. He predicted there were hundreds, if not thousands, now wandering the streets of downtown London.

Ah well, what could he do? After all, he was _just _a servant.

* * *

**A/N's: **The word 'orcinus' is Latin for 'realm of the dead.' For animal geeks: it's the scientific name for orca, _Orcinus orca_.

~, ~ stands for telepathic conversations, if anyone hasn't caught on yet. :V

Suggestions and constructive criticisms are welcome.


	2. A Faustian Offer

**Disclaimer:** Hellsing is © Kohta Hirano. I have no interest in making profit off of this.

**A/N's: **The quick flashbacks occur during the late 1700's, a few years before the French Revolution (1789-1799), if that gives everyone a better idea of the time period. I say late 1700's since Rip's flintlock musket, from what I've read from a few discussions, were in use between 1600's to the mid 1800's, and with my habit of wanting to stay true to history, I decided to integrate that into the story.

**A/N's 2:** WOW I AM SO SORRY FOR BEING DISGUSTINGLY LATE ON RE-POSTING THIS. Apologies in advance for any spelling or grammatical errors.

* * *

**ACT II: A Faustian Offer  
**

"[Death] is merely a rite of passage… To bring about rebirth in those who are imprisoned._"_

- SEELE Member No. 12, _End of Evangelion_

* * *

_The huntress dreamt, something she hasn't done in almost a decade.  
_

_She was standing in her homeland, wandering through covered in carpets of emerald, known as the Bohemian Forests, located in southeastern Germany. It was filled with towering evergreen pines, conifers, cedars, and firs. The snow-capped Alpine mountains cradled the forests, serving as the backbone of the Germanic countries. The nostalgia was incredible._

_Rip was born and raised in the small pockets of farmland that were hugged by the forests. She had her mother's long black hair (always tied back in a thick braid) but her father gave her his freckles and tall, slender build. Both parents weren't sure whose side of the family bestowed her with those brilliant blue eyes - and were just as perplexed about the origin of her myopia._

_She had two siblings – a brother, older by three years, and a sister, four years her junior. Her brother, who also had her father's build and face, helped as the blacksmith's assistant in town. Her sister, very much her mother's image, liked to help raise produce in the garden and cook._

_Her hometown was small and somewhat secluded. The community was a tight-knit one, where everyone knew everybody, and watched out for one another. Most of the townsfolk were farmers, owning chips of land. The Winkles were well known and liked, providing most of the fresh vegetables that stocked the town bazaar's produce stands. _

_She was well liked in the town. Granted, she had her quirks, but the citizens always tended to overlook it; instead, they marveled her obedience, how diligently she worked, and her upbeat personality.__ Rip gave aid to her parents when they brought their harvest to the weekly farmer's market during summer and the autumn harvest season, plucking and cleaning the fruits of their labor, and enthusiastically assisted other shop owners whenever necessary. _

_While her brother was gifted in metalworks, her's were in musical field__. With a crisp soprano voice, she sung heavenly, enough to make the angels above turn green with envy. Certainly not one to flaunt her gift (ever shy about sharing her vocal talents to strangers), she did perform at certain town festivals, which gave thanks for their bountiful harvest.  
_

_The fortress-like forest was Rip's favorite place to spend her free time at. Whether it was just to enjoy its serene stillness, or as a sanctuary to escape a stressful day, she loved being within its organic confines. She had her own little personal spot, located deep within the realm of trees: a small, grassy clearing, skirted by lush ferns, and dotted with wildflowers. The woodlands were extraordinarily dense, almost lasting forever:__ their dark, impenetrable depths, blockaded by the massive girths of trees. _Vegetation of all different shades of green grew voraciously and spilled over one another, fighting to get their share of the sun. 

_To Rip, it that only heightened the land's beautiful mystery and aura.  
_

_Her years living as a human came to an end when she was "embraced," not too long after she turned eighteen years old._

* * *

The air became more frigid, and the winds began to pick up, making the waves churn. The ship gave a rusty squeak, swinging more than necessary in the choppy sea.

Having just exterminated the last of the ghouls down in the boiler room, Alucard reappeared onto the flight deck in seconds, his guns disappearing from his hands in a wisp of smoky shadow. He had no more time to waste: it was crucial that he get this carrier ship moving. He walked to the nose of the deck, stopping at the edge. He inhaled deeply, summoning all the reserves of power he had within.

For a few moments, there was a pregnant pause, save the soft rustling of the waves against the ship. As if the whole world was holding its breath.

The ship let out a long and deafening moan, hundreds of tons of steel being pulled against its will. The carrier jerked forward, then gained momentum, and the groan dissipated. Soon, the ship cruised at a reasonable speed, water splashing at its heels.

* * *

The metallic screeching and sudden rattling of the bed jolted Rip awake. Giving a moment for her vision to adjust, she sat up. She held her glasses away from her face while palming her eyes, rubbing out sleep. Sliding her glasses back on, she realized she was in the medical ward. Why was she…

Memory flickered, recounting the events. She looked down at her bandaged torso: while it was biologically unnecessary for her to breathe, she wanted to test her lungs, checking to see if her wound was healing up. Rip breathed in, then ou—she winced and bent over in pain, coughing. The wound felt drastically better than it did previously when he was patching her up, but it still hurt.

She heard sloshing and focused in on the noise; the waves were crashing and being dragged along the sides of the ship. The aircraft carrier was moving. But how? It was put out of commission when Alucard attacked...

Gradually, Rip turned her body to the side of the bed, pushing herself with her hands, fearful she would either accidentally tug her wound enough to reopen. Once she accomplished getting herself onto the edge of the bed, she was given a pleasant surprise when she looked at the bed across from her's. Her tie, bra, gloves, military jacket and her long-sleeved oxford were neatly folded in a small stack, set upon the sheets; her shoes were on the floor, beside the bed.

Every article of clothing present was spotless, as if blood never even soiled them in the first place. Suspicious, she stood, slowly, and padded over to the other bed. Picking up her pastel-pink Oxford, she gently crushed it against her nose, inhaling deeply. No scent of blood. Not even a faint residue. There were no washing or drying rooms on the ship. How on earth could he have gotten her clothes so clean?

Slowly and gingerly, Rip dressed herself. She was in the middle of toeing her shoes on when the boat rocked. Almost knocking her off balance, she had seconds to seize the end bedpost. Once everything was brought to a calm, she made her way out of the ward at a relaxed pace.

Traveling through a myriad of halls, she reached the stairwell leading up to the flight deck. Once she was on the top step, she cautiously ventured out onto the deck; the devil was nowhere to be seen. She walked up to and stood by guardrail on the left side, gripping it as she felt the breeze and sea spray grace her face and hair, listening to the ocean rush past her as she gazed at the star-strewn night sky.

"Good to see you're able stand and walk on your own," came a drawl. Rip whirled around, grasping the rail behind her; Alucard was perched high on top of the ship's control bridge, leaning against one of the twisted buttresses of the small satellite tower.

"Vat do you want?" She snapped.

"Nothing. At least not yet." Languidly, he leaped down. "How is your wound?"

"Zhat is none of _your_ concern," Rip started as he approached her.

"It _is_ my concern." He unbuttoned her jacket, opening it halfway, then moved onto her pastel-pink shirt. Rip became instantly tense as he delicately slid his fingers into the top of the bandages, using his middle and index finger to pry the bandages from the skin. He craned over her left shoulder a bit to get a better look. Her hands gripped the guardrail behind her, teeth clenched, ready to attempt a futile defense.

"You were out for the past two hours. Give it one more and you will have nothing but a scar." He announced, rebuttoning her jacket. Was it really three hours since the Operation Seelöwe II started? From the look of the stars, it appeared the ship was on the right coordinated path. Speaking of which...

"How did you get zhe Adler to move? Consideringk you smashed zhe control box? Unless somehow you manage to bevitch a ghoul to steer it..." she sneered.

"I willed it to move."

Her eyes narrowed. Who was he kidding? Her fear of him might have impaired her judgement, but she wasn't an imbecile.

"Just like how I am willing the reconstruction of the Demeter."

Rip leaned to her left, hands still sealed to the guardrail as she looked over Alucard's shoulder. Panels from the control tower and bridge were peeled and torn, then levitated over to the jet. They were wedged, jammed and plastered by phantom hands, onto the head-standing Blackbird. She overheard a series of snaps: the cables and wires from the communication poles and towers were clipped, swinging limply in the air with resounding metallic wobbles and twangs.

Her mind stalled as it attempted to figure out how that was logically possible, but stopped after remind herself that this was the Devil, after all, and his violent craft could not always be explained.

Speaking of cursed craft, where was her weapon? It dawned on her that her object of comfort was missing.

"I vant my musket back, Devil."

"What is the magic word?" He sneered.

Rip didn't answer, instead returning him a dangerous look. "Zat vas an order."

"Incorrect."

Incensed, she lunged to clobber him. In an instant his towering frame pinned her against the guard rail and gripped her throat with a large hand. She wriggled in defiance, jaws snapping as she tried to bite his wrist, her teeth becoming plumper and sharper in her angered state.

"Temper temper," Alucard snickered; his shadows flooded beneath him in excitement. "Shouldn't little girls do as they're told?"

"Vhy did you capture me, and turn me into vone of your familiars?" Rip demanded. The shadows began to curl around her, envelope her like a shadowy robe. Disgusted by their touches, she began to thrash more wildly. In response, he began to bend her over the rail, the metal bar dug into her back. She glanced at the dark waters of the ocean below splashed and frothed, salty spray here and there against the bow. If he tossed her overboard, she was done for.

"Because," he continued, without missing a beat, "of your loyalty, persistence, and amazing skill with firearms was very appealing to me. Not to mention having a relic that is blessed with pagan magic."

She stilled, surprised. "Vho told you about-"

"No one; I already knew," He pulled her back, and tucked a few fly-aways back with his free hand. The moment she felt his cold, awful touch against her temple, a memory revived:

_She was pinned between her former Master, looming over her, and a massive rotting log - about to be punished for insubordination, all for the wasted attempt to rescue a girl who looked so much like..._

_A roar, an argument, a whiff of strong musk and a white blur. A screech, followed by a flying jawbone, teeth and flesh still attached._

_Her old home, her old farm. A being - a Perchta - with a crown of rams' horns, covered in fur from head to hoofed toe, such long legs. Angry goat-like face, frighteningly huge mouth, but wise brimstone eyes. A chant of a tongue long forgotten; her father's musket, wrapped in glowing sky-blue glyphs, being presented to her...  
_

Rip heaved, in attempt to recover from the memory dive, a hand clutching her frozen heart, now realizing she was free from his grip. "How did you know, no one... I didn't..."

"When an awakened vampire drinks their victims' blood, they gain their memories as well. Blood is the currency of life; with that comes their experiences, struggles and trials. Their victories and triumphs."

She gave him a perplexed look, trying to register this information for the very first time.

"Were you not aware of this?" Alucard inquired.

"No, I vas never told vampires could read memories."

"Not even Zorin knew?"

Rip opened her mouth to speak but quickly shut it. "How much do you know?" She snarled.

"Just enough so, to make sure hijacking this ship was not in vain."

She crossed her arms tighter, felt violated in every sense of the word, knowing he saw everything that occurred in her life, up until he crash landed. "Do I make a vorthy prisoner?" She retorted bitterly.

"A prisoner?" His brows furrowed.

"Am I not your hostage?"

Deep bells of chuckling rung from him. "You are neither. You are a prize stolen from the Major."

Rip perked up at the mention of her superior. "Vat...?"

"He is the enemy in this time of war," Alucard exclaimed, "and wouldn't it be sweeter to pocket one of his top soldiers? Why waste a talented, diligent soldier, like yourself, when I could have them fight?"

"Vat are you implyingk?"

"Not implying, _proposing_. I offer you a position to fight by my side when we arrive in London and do battle against the Major's forces."

Pure venom etched her features. "I vould ratzer die un dog's death zhan fight for a monster like you." Rip snarled, heatedly.

He predicted that, given her loyalty to that madman. "You have two options: fight for my side, willingly, or -"

"Death?" She interrupted, slightly hopeful. There was nothing else to strive for at this point, now that she was eternally bound to him.

"No. Death is too easy for you. - you pine for it. Instead, I will wipe your memory clean. You will become a mindless drone for the rest of your days." He reached within the shadows that swathed Rip, and drew out her musket. His darkness returned to him as he withdrew from her.

"I will let you think it over. You have one hour." He tossed her firearm to her as he turned away. She caught it with ease.

He returned to the scene of the crashed, still-standing Blackbird, craning his head to watch its ceaseless reconstruction. He knew from the start she would lambaste his offer fiercely, but he knew giving her time would rule in his favor. If she still refused, well then. He might have to draw out his trump card: spilling some closed-door secrets from another recently-captured Millennium member couldn't hurt.

Alucard caught movement flickering in the corner of his eye. There went the Huntress, darting from ship roof to ship compartment at an inhuman speed, with cat-like grace, until she reached the wrecked satellite tower and was out of view.

While sharing secrets couldn't hurt, the truth might for her.

* * *

_Leave a comment, critique or suggestion on the way out, THANK._


End file.
